July 8, 2019
Dear beautiful body,
I know I haven’t always been kind to you, I’m working on that, but you have always been kind to me. I’ve been break free and critical ailment free all of my life, and now, I am two days away from birthing my third beautiful human. What a miracle.
I know I will forget what a miracle this is when that tiny heartbeat shifts from being in my belly to in my hands. And I will surely forget the hard work that goes into making a human. I don’t know that I will even appreciate this time of being a vessel for reproduction fully, more than I do now, days before I am no longer one. So here I write.
Being pregnant is hard, but so rewarding, and nothing good is ever easy, is it. Growing up, I really did believe it would be as easy and fun as stuffing a blown up balloon under my shirt. I see now, that if it was, our population would be at least double. Creating a human life, inside of an existing human life, means something has got to give, a lot of things really. But rest assured eventually you re-calibrate to the depletion and then it’s just sort of normal, with a bit gut as a handicap to the practical tasks you used to be able to do (bend over, move through tight spaces, walk past people sitting down.) There is nothing quite like feeling those first flutters of kicks and squirms in your womb, the disbelief that some tiny size fruit is in there, with a heart beat, building fingers and toes and nails and eyelashes by the day. But I have to say, it’s when you’re in the 30 weeks zone that the miracle comes to life. You’re in the safe zone of knowing the baby could come at any time and be hopefully okay. And it’s taken this third time around to realise, that the marvel of a newborns strength when they come out, well that comes from all their kicking and flipping and stretching exercises inside of you, all, the, time. Sometime it feels like break-dancing, sometimes a subtle stretch. Other times it feels alarmingly painful and scary, and unnatural, but the best parts are the beautiful micro moments when you feel connected to the little being marbling around inside; his hand brushes where your hand rests, an unknown limb passes and protrudes past your belly button where your skin is so thin. They seem to understand you; your pain your joy your fear your excitement. They remain calm inside, to the point you worry about their well being. They get so active and hyper, kicking your ribs, pushing your pelvis, you worry about their well being. This is the preparation of parenthood; not even knowing if you’re ever doing it right, and never being able to determine if you are. Ever. And that’s okay.
It’s all okay. Better than okay. This is the evolution, and third birth around, I am relaxing into it. I don’t need all the answers, and I don’t need all the prep, or the panic, I just need my presence, in this, and every, moment. I do feel guilty that this baby won’t experience labour; I have decided that my body labouring must surely notify the baby that they are about to blast off into a new world soon. A c-section to me, makes me think of a deep dark warm bedroom with cosy covers and blackout curtains… then in an instant – the curtain opens to bright sun, the covers strip back to cold air, the sleep is long gone, the panic and confusions sets in, the fear of not understanding what is happening… doesn’t seem like any way to enter a world, but I suppose it’s the only way sometimes. And is squeezing through a claustrophobic germ canal any better? I suppose this is the luxe version of a… pampering, instead of boot camp through a tough-mudder tunnel… I never thought about it like that (and *this* this why I write!)
I will miss having a companion for my heart to beat with for the last thirty eight weeks. I will miss rubbing my belly, and matching my hand to their kicks that stretch my skin. I will never understand the little snapping sounds, or fetal hiccups. I won’t understand the enlarged varicose veins bulging through my leg; the protruding hemearroids that revisit every time without fail. I won’t miss the weakened immune system, the stomach virus, the constant colds, this time a flu with an awful cough that has scraped my lungs raw. The breathlessness as my lungs make room for a human, the fatigue from extra blood flow (okay sometimes the fatigue was nice, when it was time to sleep) the strong ambition to get things done, met by the reality of exhaustion that cancelled all my plans. Not being able to put shoes, or socks on, or see anything below my belly button (I examined what is currently down there with a mirror last week, never ever do that when you’re pregnant, ever. Just don’t.) The skin tags that appear, the stretch marks on my belly, the weight gain that makes nothing fit, the heightened allergies that can’t be properly medicated, I will not miss any of you.
But, not drinking alcohol for 30+ weeks, not giving a second thought to anything I wanted to eat, no concern about diet or weight gain, just an unshakable trust in my heart’s desire for something. Taking things easy, sleeping more, napping, delirious conversations and sentences that make no sense. Laughing so much my belly laughs with us, coming home and stripping off all the tight clothes to eat dinner half naked, because, pregnant. Putting myself first, cancelling plans without guilt because I need to take care of the vessel and the being. Pampering with nice nails and foot massages because they were the few ways I felt like I could beautify myself; a new wardrobe seemed pointless and short lived. In fact, the limited wardrobe, with just a few favourite pieces that fit, that was a big perk too. The level of organisation and drive and determination to accomplish so much before this human being comes and marks the rest of our lives as if the life before it didn’t exist… These are the moments I will forever be grateful for; the ones that I don’t ever want to forget. The back pain, the discharge of whatever, the peeing every time I sneeze or cough or laugh; those can all go. The back aches and the pelvic pain, and the discomfort of sitting or standing or laying down in one position. The peeing, all the time, the peeing, no thanks you can go. But on that note, WOW what a marvel our bodies are as they prepare us for sleepless nights and broken sleep with tiny bladders and crazy dreams and kicking babies and general discomfort; what a marvel.
The advice I would give my first birth self, would have been, to go slow, relax into it all. If things start to hurt, stop doing the things, that includes walking on long walks if it hurts. I did pilates and bay walks with baby number one and I wore pelvic belts and practically married a physio as a result, and in hindsight, I should have asked my muscles to relax. I should have reminded them that everything would be okay no matter what – sure do your keigels or your pelvic floor exercises, but don’t exercise more because you think you have to. Your body won’t ‘bounce back’ but it will be better than ever once you give it the time and attention after that baby comes. You’ll want fresh air and long walks and exercise once your body is just yours again, and it has started to mend itself from this vessel project. So don’t stress. And don’t get too romantic with everything before the baby comes either, because you won’t remember these days, at all; not the way you’ll remember the days later when you meet your tiny heart that you’ve grown, in person. So giving yourself pampering’s, and time, and poetic moments beforehand; sure do it, because you enjoy it, not because you feel you have to, because I promise you won’t remember anything about them, but if they relaxed you then they were worthwhile. Hold onto the memory of being pregnant if you can; write it down, take a few pictures of your big beautiful body. You won’t feel beautiful or awe inspired when you do, well probably not, but years from now, when you have tiny humans running around your house and you marvel “how did that come out of my body??” you will have something to look back on and remember. The good and the bad, the difficult, the ugly, the marvelous, the miracles, all of it. Things you miss, and things you don’t, all of it. Nothing good is ever easy, and the journey is the reward, and I promise you as slow as the journey may feel now, you will look back on the days, with only a day left to go, and realise that it all went by in a flash, faster than you ever would have believed when you were sitting at the halfway mark. You’ll be at the finish line in the blink of an eye and perhaps you’ll wish you would have enjoyed it all more, instead of trying to will and rush the process of completion.
So goodbye my pregnant vessel; thank you for being so good to me. I will miss having this part of my life, but I am ready to part ways and give all my body’s focus to the three beautiful heart beats that pulse on this earth in person. I will forever be grateful for these miracles; and if I forget, please gently remind me, to read back on these words and cherish it all over again.
Love.
Comments